on a bed of simple springs
she pulled him
,to just before her thighs,
with her hand
and smiled,
“should we bring him home?”
he pushed into her
and she breathed sharply
looking at him as if he was,
‘suddenly someone different’ ‘
when it was she who shaped herself
around him tightly
in the opposite direction
of where he once was, fracturing him
into the use of a language
he had longed to learn with some
-one, in that silence.
he went headlong
to fashion her hips, her breast, her face, her hair
and, ‘the soft wet that he was engulfed in’
into the remaking of her
,of himself in loving her,
dissolving each previous one,
into an ‘Only her’ so strikingly real
that with each breaking
he would be whole.
she clung to his shoulders,
leaning over as she rose and fell onto him
in and out of this place where he found himself
without words and so much to say.
he disappeared
into the motion and friction of her
reopening a newly made world
and sealed himself in it.
she laughed afterward, “..think of it:
in a couple of months
we’ll have done this hundreds of times.”